Modern Dance Midterm

This poem was written on March 1, 2007 after my Dance Two mid-term. The "Master" as quoted below is our dance instructor, a very talented woman and someone I look up to as a dance hero. It was my first reaction to her rather grueling midterm. We all danced our asses off and were way too tired to move afterwards. That being said, my brain thought not in terms of exhaustion but in terms of poetry.  

Modern Dance Mid-Term
Rippling muscles,
Combinations across
The floor. Strong beat,
Drums like metronomes.
Bodies rolling,
Diving to the black
well-worn dance floor.

Red light flashes,
Camera recording
Each move dancers make.
A faint whisper sounds
From behind the
Ever watching lens.
The master counts

Ensuring dancers
Do not stray from
The ever pounding
Rhythmic drum line.

Her eyes are seeing
More then the lens.
Music is her soul.

Sweat falls off the
Quivering muscles
Belonging to
The very spent
Modern dance students.

Lungs suck in air,
Panting dancers stare

At the camera,
Waiting for some kind
Of approval.
She smiles, nods and
Says: "Nice ladies."
The dancers smile,
They've succeeded.